UNIVERSITY  fl* 
CAUPOKMIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


HAIL,  MAN! 


HAIL,  MAN! 


BY 

ANGELA  MORGAN 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  HOUR  HAS  STRUCK,"  "THE  IMPRISONED  SPLENDOR," 

"UTTERANCE  AND  OTHER  POEMS," 

"FORWARD,  MARCH  !"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

LONDON:   JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
MCMXIX 


COPYRIGHT,  1919 
BT  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 


, 


THB  ABBOTT  PRESS 
NEW  YORK,  U.S.A. 


DEDICATED 

TO 

REALITY 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

These  poems  were  written  for  the  volume,  with  the 
exception  of  the  title  poem,  "Hail,  Man!",  published  in 
the  New  York  Times  on  New  Year's  Day,  1919;  "The 
Doer,"  accepted  by  The  Outlook;  "To  An  April  Bud," 
published  in  Mrs.  Waldo  Richard's  anthology  entitled 
"The  Melody  Of  Earth,"  Houghton  Mifflin  Company; 
"Winged  Victors,"  "You,"  "The  Mirror"  and  "The 
Commandment,"  Hearst's  Magazine;  and  "A  Daughter's 
Tribute,"  The  Ladies'  Home  Journal.  The  author 
wishes  to  thank  these  publications  for  their  kind  per 
mission  to  use  in  this  volume  the  verses  indicated. 


CONTENTS 


SECTION    I— SYMBOLS 

HAIL,  MAN! 11 

THE  SHAPES  OF  THINGS 13 

CURVES — ROCKS 14 

Moss 15 

COMMON  THINGS — STEAM 16 

THE  CATARACT 17 

LANDSCAPE 20 

GARDENS 21 

MINSTRELS 22 

TREES      .............  23 

BENEDICTION 25 

HARVEST 26 

CANDELABRA 27 

THE  WORD 28 

DAYS 29 

FLESH 30 

SECTION    II— MAN    IN    LIGHT 

WINGED  VICTORS .  33 

THE  DOER 35 

You 36 

THE  PLACE  OF  UNDERSTANDING (.  38 

SECTION   III— MAN   IN    DARKNESS 

THE  MIRROR 43 

WINTER 46 

THE  COMMANDMENT 52 

SECTION    IV— ENCHANTMENT 

WHITE  WINDS 57 

THE  FIRST  BORN 58 

YOUTH  TO  THE  CYNIC 59 

IN  A  STUDIO 60 

vii 


CONTENTS 

MELODY 62 

TULIP  BEDS  IN  HOLLAND 63 

COMPLETION 64 

SECTION    V— CONTRASTS 

IN  EXCHANGE  FOR  A  SOUL 67 

Ants 68 

WHAT  is  MY  WISDOM? 70 

To  A  BROKEN  STALK .  71 

WHY? 72 

LOST  RAPTURE 73 

SECTION    VI— FANCIES 

BALLAD  OF  THE  WIND  AND  THE  PINE    ....  77 

CONVERSAZIONE 80 

SUPPOSE 82 

SECTION   VII— TRIBUTES 

THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  AGE 85 

To  EDITH  THOMAS 87 

THE  HUMANITARIAN 88 

To  A  SLEEPING  BABE 89 

THE  STAR 90 

TRIBUTE  TO  GREATNESS 91 

A  DAUGHTER'S  TRIBUTE 92 

SECTION    VIII— MAN    TO-MORROW 

ON  EARTH  AS  IT  is  IN  HEAVEN  ......  97 

To  AN  APRIL  BUD 98 

THE  NEW  MARRIAGE 99 

FOUR  MORNING  STARS 100 

THE  NEW  BAPTISM 101 

THE  NEW  BIRTH 102 

COMMANDER 103 

GOOD  TIDINGS  OF  GREAT  JOY 106 

ASSURANCE 107 

viii 


I 

SYMBOLS 


HAIL,  MAN! 

This  flesh  is  but  the  symbol  and  the  shrine 

Of  an  immense  and  unimagined  beauty, 

Not  mortal,  but  divine; 

Structure  behind  our  structure, 

Lightning  within  the  brain, 

Soul  of  the  singing  nerve  and  throbbing  vein, 

A  giant  blaze  that  scorches  through  our  dust 

Fanning  our  futile  "might  be"  with  its  "Must"; 

Bearing  upon  its  breast  our  eager  span — 

Beyond,  above,  and  yet  the  self  of  man! 

Look  how  the  glowworm  with  its  feeble  might, 
Signals  the  presence  of  celestial  fire; 
How  phosphorous  upon  the  sea  at  night, 
And  the  swift  message  o'er  the  radiant  wire, 
Proclaim  the  awesome  thing  existence  covers; 
Eternity  emerging  through  our  husk, 
Sky  through  our  vapour, 
Glory  through  our  dusk. 

Behold  the  slender  scarlet  line  that  hovers 

Between  close  fingers  held  against  the  sun, 

Each  like  a  swift  and  beaming  taper 

Afire  from  one. 

And  how  each  seems  the  token 

Of  a  great  mystery  no  man  has  spoken, 

Wherein  we  walk  and  work  and  do  our  tasks, 

Nor  dream  within  what  light  the  spirit  basks  .    , 

11 


This,  creaking  tent  we  call  the  universe, 

One  motion  in  a  mighty  caravan 

Whose  million,  million  orbits  but  rehearse 

The  miracle  that  swings  the  heart  of  man, 

Is  but  the  outward  breathing  from  that  Source — 

Call  it  by  whatsoever  sounding  name, 

God  or  Jehovah,  Life  or  Primal  Force — 

Which,  like  a  vast,  impalpable,  pure  flame, 

Bears  up  the  visible  as  'twere  a  toy; 

Shoulders  our  burdens  like  a  singing  boy; 

Props  with  its  permanence  our  mortal  screen; 

Hotter  than  hissing  fires,  than  light  more  keen, 

Solid  as  stone,  simple  and  clean  as  glass, 

Fluid  as  flashing  waves  that  leap  and  pass  .    .    . 

Yet  doth  obscuring  flesh 
Infinity  enmesh, 

While  soul  within  its  prison  speaks  to  soul, 
Hailing  the  habitation  as  the  whole! 
This  flesh  is  but  the  visible  outshowing 
Of  a  portentous  and  a  mighty  thing, 
Whereof,  each  mortal  knowing, 
Becomes  a  King! 


12 


THE  SHAPES  OF  THINGS 

The  shapes  of  things  yield  me  such  melody, 
The  shapes  and  the  colors  of  things; 
Thought  of  the  Infinite  Ecstasy 
Symboled  in  blossoms  and  wings; 
Fires  from  the  furnace  immutable 
Cooling  in  clusters  of  good, 
Nature  clothing  her  love  for  man 
In  shelter  and  warmth  and  food. 

Behold  the  shape 

Of  the  rich  purple  grape; 

How  apples  garner  the  creative  heat; 

Melons  repeating  in  their  many-seeded  story 

The  round  green  earth  and  dawn's  glory. 

Orange  and  pear,  damson  and  fig,  store  an  amazing 

sweet — 

Globules  of  glory  from  the  escaping  fire, 
Flung  from  the  full  fingers  of  desire. 
And  ripe  carnelian  berries, 
Currants  and  plums  and  cherries 
Are  sparks  of  joy  still  burning 
From  the  creative  yearning; 
As  if  the  Eternal  Ardor  strove  to  press 
One  drop  more  of  deliciousness ! 


13 


CURVES 

God  thinks  in  such  convincing  curves  and  chalices; 
Mountains  and  hills,  lilies  and  birds  in  flight — 
And  in  the  sky  where  Beauty's  palace  is, 
Bubble  on  bubble  of  transcendent  light, 
Disc  upon  disc  of  fire,  jewel  on  jewel, 
Fed  ceaselessly  by  His  undying  fuel. 


ROCKS 

Rocks  are  jagged  and  weird  and  wild, 

Or  they  are  beautiful  and  glad, 

Or  they  are  wistful  as  a  child, 

Or  they  are  grim  and  sad. 

Some  days  they  are  like  dancing  flame  .    .    . 

They  never  are  the  same. 

They  never  are  the  solid  mass 

We  think  they  are,  and  could  we  pass 

Before  them  in  their  native  key, 

Another  substance  they  would  be. 

Rocks  may  betray  an  undulating  grace, 

Warm  gestures  and  a  living  face, 

Teaching  a  secret  we  have  not  been  told — 

That  we,  not  they,  are  dull  and  hard  and  cold! 

Lake  Minnewaska,  Ulster  County. 

14 


MOSS 

When  God  weaves  velvet  on  the  looms  of  Spring, 
Mortals,  beholding,  turn  their  heads  in  wonder  .    . 
Such  skill  and  tenderness  He  pours  in  everything, 
Till  Fairyland  blooms  over  us  and  under. 
And  mortal  feet  may  tread  on  April  floss, 
May  grasses  and  June  moss. 

Moss  is  too  exquisite  for  human  touch; 
I  think  He  must  have  made  it  to  beguile 
Angels  and  gods  to  stay  with  us  awhile; 
Or  else,  perhaps  He  loves  us  all  so  much 
We  seem  to  Him  not  erring  folk  at  all, 
Nor  knows  He  anything  of  Adam's  fall, 
But  sees  us  all  perfected  and  complete — 
Worthy  a  royal  carpet  for  our  feet. 


Pine  Tree  Inn,  Lakehursi,  New  Jersey. 

15 


COMMON  THINGS 

Even  the  kitchen  cup  I  measure  by 

May  hold  its  quota  of  the  blue  sky, 

It's  handful  of  Heaven, 

As  bread  holds  leaven. 

And  a  silver  faucet  stem  may  bring  to  me 

The  hill's  white  laughter, 

The  mountain  torrent's  ecstasy. 


STEAM 

I  never  cease  to  marvel  on  the  miracle  of  water, 

And  how  her  wedding  with  a  flame 

Brings  a  fairy  daughter; 

Shape  elusive,  wonderful,  brief  visitor  on  earth; 

Symbol  of  divinity,  and  angel  birth. 


16 


THE  CATARACT 

I  am  so  filled  with  the  grandeur  and  glory  of  living, 
I  cannot  wait,  poets,  to  utter  it  calmly  in   smooth, 

conventional  rhyme. 
Who  knows  to  what  vast,  imperial  rhythm  the  tides 

keep  time? 

To  what  infinite  measure 
Earth  offers  her  treasure — 

Trees  treading  the  hills  to  a  song  unheard,  unseen; 
Spring  unrolling  her  splendor  of  passionate  green; 
Mountains  marching  royally  on  and  on 
To  an  unseen  baton? 

How  may  I  sing  the  mixed,  magnificent  motion 
Of  surf,  hungrily  seeking  the  unresponsive  shore, 
Beating  upon  her  proud  barriers  more  and  more, 
In  dull  words  of  decorous  devotion? 
Can  a  carven  word  contain 
The  ocean's  pain? 

Can  a  storm  be  stored  in  a  tulip  cup, 
Can  a  dandelion  stem  drink  up 
The  glorious  tide  of  the  great  Pacific? 
Life,  prolific 

Immense,  and  never  still, 
Crammed  in  a  snug  and  narrow  brim, 
Never  to  sputter  or  spill 
Across  that  rim? 

How  may  I  tell  of  rocks  girding  the  living  land  with 
length  on  length 

17 


Of  age-recording  strength 
And  yet  be  true 

To  the  bounds  you'd  hold  me  to? 
How  may  I  sing  of  the  sea's  mad  brine 
In  a  clipped  and  tailored  line? 
Bid  the  singer  of  songs  restrainedly  go? 
Why?     Life  is  not  so! 

Can  you  cram  the  music  of  wave  and  wind  and  star 
In  a  fixed  majolica  jar? 
In  little  lacquered  words 
Can  you  spell  the  rapture  of  birds? 
Tell  control  to  the  winds!     Bid  the  cataract  wait 
When  Spring  unlatches  the  gate! 
Say  to  her  snowy  lava,  leaping  the  mountain  stair, 
"Halt!     With  your  plumes  in  air." 
Bid  Niagara  measure  her  leap,  her  fall. 
Say  to  the  Master  Magician,  Creator  of  all 
His  hand  was  most  uncouth 

To  fashion  a  symbol  of  rushing,  impetuous  youth. 
Tell  Him  his  aim  erred, 
His  plan  was  most  absurd 

When    He    thought    of    the   wild,    spurting,    delirious 
note  of  a  bird. 

O  sing,  sing,  sing!   Birds  in  your  green  tree. 
You  cannot  sing  too  hard  or  long 
To  say  what  sings  in  me. 
Sing  of  the  mad  night  in  May 

When  I  held  my  lover  in  my  arms  though  he  was 
miles  away; 

18 


Yes!  Held  my  lover  on  my  heart,  and  hold  him  still 
to-day. 

Sing  of  the  solid  ground  melting  beneath  my  feet, 

Rolling  away  in  undulations  fine  as  waving  wheat; 

Sing  of  the  rainbow  presence  spanning  every 
thing  .  .  . 

O  sing,  sing,  sing! 


Lake  Minnewaska,  New  York. 

19 


LANDSCAPE 

Some  speak  of  hills  and  trees  as  things  apart; 

They  are  my  inmost  heart     .     .     . 

They  are  the  very  flowing  forth  of  me, 

The  utterance  of  hope,  and  love,  and  mystery. 

And  when  I  move  with  rapture,  so  move  they. 

And  when  I  walk  at  sundown,  they  go  with  me  all  the 

way. 

They  are  my  very  presence,  and  I,  theirs. 
And  when  I  go  to  sleep,  they  are  my  prayers. 
They  are  my  splendor  in  the  stirring  day, 
Each  yearning  twig  and  spire 
A  spoken  word  of  fire 
Saying  in  beauty  what  I  may  not  say. 
They  are  the  passion  of  my  soul's  reach 
That  needs  no  lovelier  speech. 


Lake  Mohonk,  New  York. 

20 


GARDENS 

The  quilted  earth  laid  softly  out  in  'Spring, 
In  squares  of  velvet  brown  and  satin  green, 
With  tucks  and  featherstitching  in  between 
And  pearls  on  everything. 
Ruts  in  the  road,  so  friendly  to  my  feet, 
Making  the  lonely  path  safe  and  sweet; 
Pebbles  of  onyx  beauty,  smooth  and  round 
Gleaming  in  shy  rapture  upon  the  ground; 
Fireflies  jewelling  the  edge  of  night  .    .    . 
These  shapes  are  my  delight. 


21 


MINSTRELS 

Trees  are  the  messengers  of  angel  mirth, 
Minstrels  of  cosmic  passion.    Tied  to  earth 
They  live  aloof,  beyond  our  human  reach, 
With  gods  conversant  in  an  unknown  speech. 
Wives  of  the  ether,  lovers  of  the  dawn, 
Harps  for  the  winds  of  God  to  play  upon, 
Their    trillion    iridescences    awaken, 
With  the  first  sounding  of  the  sun's  red     .     . 
And  with  the  final  chords  of  rapture  overhead 
Their  boughs  are  shaken 
By  agonies  of  bliss  we  may  not  hear 
Through  the  dull  channel  of  the  daily  ear. 
Oh,  were  our  senses  finer  than  the  breeze 
That  we  might  know  the  ecstasy  of  trees ! 


22 


TREES 

Trees  are  astronomers,  benign  and  hoary, 

Tellers  of  tall  antiquity,  who  stand 

Bastioned  upon  the  bosom  of  the  land 

Yet  freed  eternally  from  earth's  red  story. 

No  lowly  secrets  of  the  dark  soil 

Command  their  toil; 

Their  learned  eyes 

Fastened  in  solemn  rapture  on  the  skies 

Witness  the  bright  procession  of  the  stars  move  on 

From  early  dark  till  dawn. 

Seeing  Orion  with  his  blazing  shield 

Marshal  his  hosts  upon  the  battlefield. 

Beholding  Perseus,  whose  winged  leap 

Turns  the  devouring  demon  into  stone, 

Melting  the  while  a  virgin  heart  from  sleep 

That  fair  Andromeda  shall  be  his  own. 

Trees  are  historians  who  tell  upon  their  pages 

The  pageantry  of  ages. 

No  earthly  dwellers  they 

Who  watch  all  day 

The  scenic  splendor  of  the  sky 

Drifting  by. 

Battles  and  beauties,  palaces  that  rear 

Imperial  domes  within  the  painted  atmosphere. 

Princes  on  prancing  steeds, 

Heroic  deeds 

Unseen  of  man,  whose  eager  hours  are  spent 

23 


In  ways  unseemly  to  the  firmament. 
Fever  and  fret  are  stranger  to  the  trees 
Riding  among  the  stars  in  giant  ease, 
Dwelling  amid  an  ecstasy  of  light     .     .     . 
Such  glory  as  would  stun  our  smaller  sight. 
Trees  are  historians  who  strive  to  render, 
Year  upon  year,  the  record  of  the  sky's  splendor. 
Shedding  their  flaming  stars  for  us  to  see, 
Printing  their  new  green  pages,  tirelessly     .     .     , 
While  we,  who  gather  handfuls  of  their  gold 
See  not  it  is  the  starlight  that  we  hold! 


24 


BENEDICTION 

Hills  are  earth's  longing  to  commune  with  God; 
Mountains,  her  great  Amen;  and  trees, 
Loved  of  the  sky,  though  wedded  to  the  sod     .     . 
Life  has  no  truer  worshippers  than  these. 


L&ke  Mohonk,  New  York. 

25 


HARVEST 

Pumpkins  ripe  and  yellow  on  the  earth's  full  breast; 

Frost-sharp  air,  colder  and  colder. 

Crimson  fires  in  the  clear  white  west, 

And  a  lantern  moon  swung  over  earth's  shoulder. 

Crackling  and  burning  of  leaves  somewhere — 

Thickening  smoke  in  the  luscious  air; 

And  piercing  clean  to  the  heart  of  this 

A  dagger  of  sudden  bliss. 


26 


CANDELABRA 

Trees  that  lift  your  branches  white 
Chastely  in  the  winter  night, 
Holding  crystals  diamond  clear, 
Every  twig  a  flashing  tear, 
Every  branch  an  arm  of  light 
Curved  to  bear  a  candle  bright — 
Nature's  thought  was  clear  and  bold 
When  she  shaped  your  hands  to  hold 
Tapers  shining  all  the  way 
To  guide  the  feet  of  Day. 


27 


THE  WORD 

Life  is  a  many-syllabled  intent 
Where  stubborn  man  is  spurred 
And  all  his  powers  spent 
To  find  the  meaning  of  that  blurred 
And  intricate  design.    Oh,  few  there  be 
For  all  their  erudition,  who  can  see 
Love  is  the  word! 


28 


DAYS 

Days  are  thrusts  out  of  Eternity, 

Swords  out  of  serried  splendor,  where  the  soul 

Stands  emperor  of  time  and  circumstance; 

Beholding  in  one  glance 

The  scattered  regiments  of  marching  years 

Bear  down  the  citadel  of  human  fears, 

Treading  a  single  measure  to  one  goal. 


FLESH 

Flesh  is  the  web  the  soul  weaves 

About  its  too-bright  center, 

Saying  to  all  who  enter, 

"Lo,  find  me  through  these  folds. 

He  who  beholds 

Or  seeks  with  unanointed  hand 

My  burning  majesty,  he  may  not  stand." 

Even  as  solar  spheres  whose  whorls  of  passion 

Summoned  from  chaos  shapes  for  flame  to  wear 

So  doth  a  consciousness  within  us  fashion 

The  bodies  that  we  bear. 

Could  we  but  strip  the  surface  from  the  man, 
Tear  off  the  seeming  from  the  enduring  plan, 
Such  melody  and  magic  would  appear, 
Such  devastating  beauty,  as  would  sear 
The  very  sight  to  gaze  on.     Hush — be  still! 
Go  now  within  that  shrine  no  man  has  trod, 
Back  of  the  restless  brain,  the  tense  will; 
Back  where  the  engines  of  the  pulse  begin; 
Back  where  the  molten  door  swings  in 
And  the  upleaping  flame  announces  God! 


30 


II 

MAN  IN  LIGHT 


WINGED  VICTORS 

Said  the  earth  to  her  plodding  men; 

Said  the  earth  to  her  sons,  the  brood  of  her  breast, 

"The  million  years  roll  on  and  round  again, 

But  the  hour  comes  for  the  going  of  birds  from  the 

mother  nest. 
See!    How  I  softly  fly 
Through  the  sheer  sky — 
And  as  I  skim  the  obedient  blue, 
So  shall  you!" 

Said  the  earth  to  her  fledgling  race, 

Cried  the  earth  to  her  infant  gods  one  by  one 

Beating  brave  wings  in  frightening  space — 

"I,  too,  was  once  a  feeble  speck  in  the  sun, 

Swept  by  shattering  storms  of  chaos  under  me. 

So  shall  ye  safely  stride 

Wind  and  tide, 

Sailing  over  the  land,  then  over  the  sea. 

"So  shall  ye  join  the  celestial  tribes  who  would  explore 
Far  seas  and  a  new  shore. 

So  shall  ye  know  the  joy  of  mad,  adventuring  flight 
With  great  orbs  moving  in  flocks  of  beauty  across  the 

night. 

Ah,  ye  have  lain  snug  and  slept  long 
Never   to   witness  earth,   one   of  the   vast   migrating 

throng 

33 


Who,  hearing  the  Far  Voice  by  man  unheard, 
Follow  and  follow  on,  like  the  homing  bird!" 

Said  the  earth  to  Saturn,  "See! 

Saint  of  the  sky,  with  aureoles  of  fire, 

Behold  what  manner  of  rings  encircle  me — 

Girdles  of  golden  ships  that  shall  not  tire 

Till  man  triumphant,  cleaving  a  path  to  Mars, 

Calls  to  a  kindred  race  in  kindred  spheres, 

Beckons  the  silver-plumed  planets  and  stars 

Plying  their  burnished  wings  against   the   assembled 

years. 

Hail,  Castor  and  Pollux!     Kingly  Orion,  Hail! 
Witness  a  new-born  race  that  shall  not  fail. 
For  the  day  of  the  trudging  and  toiling  man  is  done, 
The  hour  strikes  for  the  soaring  of  gods  to  the  sun!" 


34 


THE  DOER  * 

While  poets  praised  the  whirlwind  and  the  wild 
Impatient  powers  of  the  firmament, 
He  called  the  thunder  to  him  as  a  child, 
Summoned  the  lightning  from  the  way  it  went, 
Captured  the  forces  of  the  earth  and  sky 
For  men  to  travel  by. 

A  new  Saint  Francis,  knowing  subtle  speech 
To  beckon  winged  creatures  out  of  reach; 
Bidding  the  tempests  like  obedient  birds 
Perch  on  his  shoulder,  listen  to  his  words, 
Hearing  their  secrets,  to  be  told  again 
To  the  glad  world  of  men. 

With  testing,  reverent  hands  and  seeing  eyes 

Glimpsing  his  God  through  steel  and  wire  and  wood, 

He  lured  the  splendors  out  of  Paradise, 

Prisoned  the  comet's  fire  for  human  good, 

Loosing  the  strands  of  Berenice's  Hair 

To  link  the  paths  of  men  and  make  them  fair. 

Man  or  magician,  saint  or  sorcerer, 

Whether  in  league  with  Jove  or  Lucifer, 

The  dark  Inferno  answers  to  his  mind 

And  harnessed  Satan  toils  for  humankind. 

World,  bring  him  your  gifts  of  purest  worth 

Who  builds  the  Eternal  City  here  on  earth! 

*  In  recognition  of  Frank  Julian  Sprague's  pioneer  electrical 
achievements. 

35 


YOU 

This  radio  station  you  call  your  body, 

Bearing  along  its  quivering  wires 

The  keen  stress 

Of  strange  fires; 

Curious  cover  you  say  is  you — 

I,  to  humor  you,  say  it  too; 

Calling  by  name  as  you'd  have  me  do 

Your  frail,  mechanical  outer  dress — 

Do  you  know  as  you  sit  and  talk  with  me 

This  isn't  the  self  I  see? 

Do  you  know  above  and  about  your  frame 

I  see  a  something  spread  and  shine, 

Sister  to  that  we  know  as  flame — 

A  presence  wonderful,  divine? 

This  radio  station  you  term  a  "man," 
And  give  him  a  name  and  a  street  address; 
Form  familiar  whose  face  you  scan, 
Whose  friendly  hand  you  press; 
Do  you  know,  as  his  body  stands  in  view 
The  man  himself  is  apart  from  you — 
Creature  of  will,  being  of  fire, 
Roaming  the  hills  of  high  desire, 
Mating  his  wings  with  the  cherubim 
Nor  flesh  nor  body  can  conquer  him? 

This  petulant  body  you  term  your  own, 
Toiling  to  pamper  its  fevered  call — 

36 


Bundle  of  muscle  and  flesh  and  bone  — 

You  never  have  entered  its  gates  at  all. 

Supreme,  apart,  you  stand  alone; 

You,  the  director,  you  the  Man; 

You,  who  tower  above  the  brain  — 

You  love;  you  will;  you  dream  and  plan; 

You  clear  the  jungle,  conquer  pain, 

Harness  the  winds  and  hold  the  tides. 

Your  free,  unfettered  spirit  rides 

On  wild  adventures  of  the  soul 

Nor  ever  makes  the  earth  its  goal. 

This  radio  station  you  call  your  body  .    .    . 

And  I,  to  humor  you,  term  it  you; 

Calling  by  name  as  you'd  have  me  do  — 

O  friend  —  this  is  not  you! 

.1  tv' 


„•;[  nsrr;ij;i 

'.bLlJfiCD    H; 

ti  ois  I!s  JIA 
lr  fcns  ,^A 
;a  srfr  bin:  A 
7  bnfl 


37 


THE  PLACE  OF  UNDERSTANDING 

Man  is  a  rounded  whole.    Why  should  each  part 
Battle  and  strive  eternally  against  the  other? 
Why  should  the  mind  make  war  against  the  heart, 
And  sister  cells  in  conflict  with  their  brother 
Fight  for  the  guerdon  of  a  fancied  goal, 
Warring,  forever  warring?    Why  not  see 
Man  is  the  acorned  good  he  yearns  to  be, 
Patterned  in  sanctity,  serene  and  whole? 

Oh,  they  are  true — all! 

Each,  passionate,  conflicting  call: 

The  saintly  self  that  cries 

With  lifted  eyes 

"Holy,  holy !"    The  human  self  that  lies 

Transported  by  the  beauties  of  the  earth, 

By  human  love  and  birth — 

Grim  contradictions  of  our  partial  sight — 

All,  all  are  true  and  right      .     .     . 

Aye,  and  the  godly  yearning  that  would  seek  its  place 

Amid  the  splendors  of  immortal  space 

May  find  within  a  sacred  human  kiss 

The  spirit's  apotheosis  of  bliss. 

Know  then  the  human  soul 

A  rich,  rejoicing  whole. 

And  man  himself  no  little  arc,  no  single  rim, 

But  glorified  in  many  parts  that  measure  him 

38 


In  gracious  complement,  supreme  and  sound. 
And  the  white  yearning  after  God, 
And  the  deep  happiness  in  fruitful  sod 
Show  the  fine  plentitude  his  soul  has  found. 
Even  the  light  he  gropes  for, 
The  great  millennium  his  spirit  hopes  for, 
And  the  soul's  remedy  for  sin 
Are  found  within. 

Man  is  the  rounded  sum  of  all  he  seeks; 

When  the  full  being  speaks, 

All  warring  selves  become  divinely  one, 

Moving  in  beauty  round  his  heart's  sun. 

All  our  desires  are  true 

When  lifted  to  the  blue     .     .     . 

But  we  must  hold  our  longings  to  the  light 

And  sing  among  the  stars  more  and  more 

Nor  stand  contented  on  our  planet's  floor 

If  we  would  greatly  live  in  the  Creator's  sight. 


39 


Ill 

MAN  IN  DARKNESS 


THE  MIRROR 

"Lo,  see  yourself,  world,  as  you  are!" 

Faint,  eerie  and  far 

As  a  voice  from  a  star, 

Coming  nearer  and  near, 

Sounding  close  at  my  ear — 

A  bugle  that  sang  in  the  dead  of  the  night.   .    .    . 

"Look  up  to  the  height! 

Look  up!    We  would  speak  with  the  children  of  men; 

We  have  signaled  and  waited,  and  signaled  again." 

A  shutter  that  opened  far  up  in  the  sky; 

A  beckoning  finger,  the  flash  of  an  eye — 

And  something  afire  like  a  shield  in  the  sun, 

Dropping  down  through  the  dark.   .    .    . 

Now  faint  as  a  spark  where  it  flickered  and  spun   .    .    . 

Now  closer  and  clear, 

A  mirror  in  flight 

Coming  nearer  and  near 

As  the  eye  of  an  engine  that  scorches  the  sight  .    .    . 

Now  quiet  and  cool  as  a  shadowy  pool 

Where  I  looked,  seeing  nothing;  but  gazing  again, 

Saw,  faintly  emerging,  the  figures  of  men. 

"Look  long  in  the  mirror — God  holds  it  to  view. 

Is  this,  then,  the  Image  He  fashioned  for  you?" 

I  shuddered  and  saw, 

Hid  my  face  in  affright! 

Swift  armies  in  battle  flared  up  to  my  sight; 

43 


Then,  looking  again, 

Not  faces  of  men 

But  faces  of  beasts  glared  out  of  that  den. 

Flesh,  turning  to  hair,  fist  changing  to  claw, 

Tooth  turning  to  fang,  the  jungle's  red  rage 

Let  loose  in  that  cage.   .    .    . 

"So  seemeth  the  sight  from  the  peak  of  a  star — 

Shame!     See  yourself,  world,  as  you  are!" 

So  close  was  the  mirror,  so  true  and  so  bright, 

It  burned  on  my  pillow  a  circle  of  light.   .    .    . 

It  sent  through  my  being  the  snarl  and  the  yell, 

Hell  screaming  at  hell. 

And  I  cried  in  my  grief,  "Let  me  look  once  again, 

O  angel  of  light,  on  the  faces  of  men."   .    .    . 

A  clap  as  of  thunder!  and  beasts  were  no  more, 

Yet  fury  and  battle  raged  on  as  before ; 

Man  set  against  man,  claw  tearing  at  claw; 

Strong    crushing    the    weak;   ...   I    shuddered    and 

saw. 

"Lo,  see  yourself,  world,  as  you  are! 
Man-fearing,  beast-eating,  claw-tearing, 
God-sneering,  your  cruelty  wearing 
Its  futile  disguise. 
Tear  the  veil  from  your  eyes! 
Let  the  jungle  be  seen 
That  the  mirror  be  clean. 

"We  who  see  in  a  glass 
What  cometh  to  pass, 

44 


We  know  the  new  birth 

That  is  coming  to  earth. 

No  falsehood  will  bear 

The  Future's  bright  stare   .    .    . 

Once  the  vision  is  seen, 

Man,  strong  and  serene 

Will  rise  to  his  star.   .    .    . 

Lo,  see  yourself,  world,  as  you  are!" 


45 


WINTER 

Winter!   Taut,  clean,  whistling,  bristling  winter; 

Glittering,   hard,   glorious   winter  is   here. 

Whew!    How  it  hits  the  cheek  and  stings  the  ear, 

Splinter  on  flashing  splinter 

Struck  from  the  wild,  invisible  cold. 

Wonderful  winter!     Cruel,  desperate,  bold. 

The  world  is  a  frozen  drum 

Where  hoofs  of  horses  beat, 

And  a  clamor  of  siren  music  rises,  weirdly  sweet; 

Singing,  whining,  slim  and  shining — 

Winching  wheels  that  munch  the  snow, 

Hands  that  ache  and  hearts  that  glow — 

Stamp  the  feet  and  hood  the  sight 

For  winter  is  abroad  to-night! 


Winter!    A  giant  pane  of  glass 

Cutting  the  city's  vitals  clean  through; 

Cleaving  the  heart  of  the  human  mass 

As  a  huge  knife  would  do — 

Cruel,  implacable  winter! 

Cold,  cold,  cold. 

Cold  like  a  granite  wall, 

Ghostly,  invisible,  tall. 

Flint  most  mercilessly  made ; 

Flint   blue-cold,   sharp   as   a   steel   blade. 

Flint  that  challenges  the  soul  and  cries  to  it, 

"Come,  see  if  you  are  fit! 

46 


See  how  the  rebounding  spirit  leaps  in  sparks  of  gold, 
From  contact  with  the  cold." 


Winter!  Sparkling,  snapping,  exquisite  winter; 

Brittle,  beautiful,  radiant  winter  is  here. 

Fringed  with  icicles,  frosted  over; 

A  huge  white  cake  with  a  candied  cover — 

Oh,  how  we  love  you,  winter! 

The  cold  crackles  and  creaks  and  simmers; 

The  cold  spurts  and  glimmers, 

Crashing  in  crystals  under  the  feet — 

Wild,  adorable,  sweet. 

See  how  the  fruiterer's  window  is  no  more; 

The  baker's  glowing  shop,  the  grocery  store 

All  gripped  within  the  same  incredible  vise. 

A  thick  white  curtain  of  complete  disguise. 

Now  the  maze  of  street  lamps,  rank  on  blazing  rank 

Are  sudden  steel  soldiers  helmetted  for  death. 

Hear  the  white  hissing  of  the  enemy's  breath — 

Hear  the  frozen  frenzy  as  their  stiff  swords  clank! 


How  wonderful  to  lift  the  awed  face 

And  see  the  sky,  a  dome  of  jeweled  lace, 

And  the  blue  moon,  a  polished  knob  on  Heaven's  door ! 

God,  when  we  turn  the  knob  and  enter  in 

What  secret  splendor  shall  we  witness  more? 

Winter!  A  clean,  glittering  soul,  purged  of  sin. 


47 


Winter!   An  amber  flame  of  beauty  leaping 

From  windows  of  delight; 

For  home  is  reached — God  had  us  in  His  keeping —  . . . 

And  all  is  right. 

Good !  What  a  splendid,  roaring  fire  is  this — 

What  radiance,  what  bliss! 

Here,  Susie,  child,  come  sit  by  father's  knee. 

Joseph  and  Margherita,  too — all  three. 

(Mother,  we'll  come  to  dinner  in  a  trice 

When  I'm  thawed  free  of  ice.) 

Now,  if  you'd  have  a  story  of  fierce  battle, 

Of  human  struggle  matched  against  the  storm, 

Father  will  tell  it,  while  the  windows  rattle, 

And  we  sit  snug  and  warm  .    .    . 

Children,  winter  is  like  a  tiger's  tooth; 

A  yawning  mouth  that  hungers  for  its  prey; 

But  man  has  slain  the  enemy  with  Truth 

And  conquers  him  to-day. 

Remember  this;  no  beast  can  master  humankind, 

Whose  flashing  weapon  is  the  living  mind  .    .    . 

Yes,  mother!   Here  we  come — a  hungry  troop   .    .    . 

Ah,  what  a  pleasing  table,  and  what  soup ! 

Mother,  your  genius  overwhelms  our  chatter — 

You  are  the  queen,  and  nothing  else  should  matter. 

Hark!    Did  you  hear  the  storm  pounding  upon  that 

door? 
How  terrible  it  is!    Worse,  even,  than  before  .    .    . 

48 


Like  a  sublime,  infuriated  devil. 

Well,  let  it  rage.     No  storm  can  level 

Steel  girders  and  iron  bars  of  strength. 

I  tell  you,  man  is  master;  and  at  length 

Even  the  storm  will  yield  before  his  will. 

Nothing  is  greater — pardon — than  your  skill. 

Such  muffins,  mother !    And  such  fragrant  coffee,  too. 

Dear,  patient  woman,  we  are  proud  of  you. 

Listen!   That  pounding  sounds  agaii,  like  thunder. 

Is  that  the  door  bell?  Bridget  will  answer  it  ... 

I  wonder  .    .    . 

Ah,  here  she  comes.     Her  face  looks  queer  and  white. 
What's  that?    A  beggar?    On  this  fearful  night! 
Take  him  into  the  kitchen — give  him  a  hot  cup; 
Something  cheering  and  good  to  sup. 
No,  mother,  you'll  not  go.    I'll  see  him  through. 
Children,  sit  quiet.    Father  knows  what  to  do. 

What's  this,  my  man?     No  food,  no  shelter,  out  of 

luck? 
Children    hungry, — the    same    old    story — and    your 

wife 

Gone  to  the  hospital?    Well,  on  my  life 
It's  hard  lines  and  a  bad  night  you've  struck. 
Bridget,  give  him  some  bacon  and  bread — 
Make  the  coffee  real  hot 
To  go  to  the  spot. 

Sorry,  my  fellow — sorry  I  can't  do  more. 
I've  a  big  brood  myself. 

49 


Perhaps  in  the  mansion  next  door 

You'll  find  work  a  plenty  to  do.    You  can  try. 

Better  luck  to  you.    Sorry,  my  man.    Good  bye ! 


Yes,  mother,  he  seemed  pretty  shaky  and  rough; 

Not  vicious  at  all,  but  I  thought  it  was  best 

You  should  stay  in  here  with  the  rest. 

Well,  it's  tough. 

But  then,  what's  the  use  to  spoil  our  repast 

With  trouble  at  last? 

Come,  Susie!   The  paper  for  father — that's  right. 

How  cosey  the  lamp  is — how  good  and  how  bright! 

That's  right,  mother — smile! 

I'll  sit  here  and  read  for  awhile   .    .    . 

Winter!    Cruel,  piercing,  ruthless  winter, 

Splinter  on  splinter 

Striking  the  cheek  and  lip 

Like  a  tyrant's  whip. 


Winter,  colder  and  colder, 

A  dagger  in  a  bare  shoulder  .    .    . 

Children,  how  thankful  we  should  be 

For  the  good  gifts  our  Lord  has  given. 

Come,  sit  again  by  father's  knee, 

And  bow  your  heads  to  God  in  Heaven. 

Ask  Him  once  more 

To  help  the  poor, 

To  comfort  all  who  are  opprest. 

50 


We  know  He  doeth  all  things  best. 
Now,  go  upstairs  and  cuddle  tight. 
Mother  will  tuck  you  in  just  right  .    .    . 

Winter!  The  jagged  teeth  of  an  unseen  monster 
Glorying  in  man's  pain. 

0  earth,  is  your  boast  in  vain?   .    .    . 

Well,   here's   a   good   book.     I'll   read,   to   forget   his 
face   .    .    . 

1  wonder,  now,  will  he  find  a  place? 

I've   got  to  forget  him;   I   must!     But  somehow   or 

other  .    .    . 

He  was  ill.  He  was  weak.  He  could  scarcely  rise. 
The  tears  were  frozen  about  his  terrified  eyes  .  .  . 
My  brother,  O  Christ,  my  brother! 


51 


THE  COMMANDMENT 

And  a  Being  came  to  me,  where  I  sat  in  the  broad 

daylight, 

And  said  to  me,  "Write!" 
Strange  was  the  shadow  His  passing  made; 
Whether  of  fire,  whether  of  shade 
I  know  not;  only  I  seemed  to  see 
Sifting  down  through  the  atmosphere 
Bright  as  needles  of  darting  rain 
The  golden  air  of  another  sphere. 
Oh,  may  I  see  its  like  again 
To  fill  my  veins  with  heavenly  fright, 
To  sting  my  vision,  smite  me  dujnb! 
"Never  by  war  shall  redemption  come." 
Whether  a  whisper,  whether  a  breeze, 
Whether  a  telling  among  the  trees 
I  know  not;  only  the  words  were  said, 
Clear  as  silver  above  my  head. 


"Never  by  war  shall  contention  cease; 
Ye  shall  try  out  war  for  the  ends  of  peace, 
Ye  shall  try  out  war  to  the  rim  of  time — 
Your  sons  shall  pay  for  the  awful  crime. 
Young  were  the  lives  that  went,  alas! 
Young  bones  make  green  and  tender  grass ; 
But  living  men  have  greater  worth. 
Would  God  they  walked  the  earth! 


52 


And  a  Being  came  to  me,  a  film  on  the  high  noon's 

heat ; 

Down  where  the  orchards  poured  their  sweet 
In  blossom  drifts  of  lavish  white 
He  came  and  said  to  me,  "Write! 
Never  by  hate  is  Truth  revealed, 
Never  by  hate  shall  the  earth  be  healed." 
.    .    .   Was  it  the  ghost  of  a  soldier  dead? 
Was  it  some  martyr  spirit  fled 
From  Heaven  awhile  to  help  mankind 
A  nobler  way  of  peace  to  find? 
I  know  not;  only  I  seemed  to  see 
A  look  of  Heaven  on  every  tree. 
"Never  by  war  shall  the  world  be  won; 
Never  by  war  shall  good  be  wrought; 
Ye  tear  each  other  from  sun  to  sun, 
Ye  rend  each  other  from  night  to  day 
And  over  and  over  your  prayers  ye  pray  .    .    . 
Have  ye  forgotten  the  Word  I  brought?" 


Why  were  the  huddled  trees  afraid? 
The  poplar  swayed  as  it  ne'er  had  swayed; 
The  birds  were  still  in  a  stricken  sky 
And  cattle  shivered  as  they  went  by. 
"Never  by  war  shall  my  kingdom  come; 
Ye  fare  to  battle  with  beat  of  drum 
And  shout  to  Heaven  your  brazen  creed; 
Ye  try  out  war  till  their  bodies  writhe 
In  heaps  of  horror  to  meet  the  scythe; 

53 


Ye  try  out  war  till  their  bodies  wait 
In  mangled  mountains  within  your  gate   . 
No  wars  may  turn  the  false  word  true; 
"A  new  commandment  I  give  to  you!" 
"Never  by  war  shall  contention  cease!" 
Was  it  the  robe  of  the  Prince  of  Peace? 
Ask  the  cypress,  who  saw  him  pass  .    .    . 
A  Wind  of  glory  along  the  grass; 
Since  when,  her  head  she  holdeth  high 
To  hear  His  footsteps  mount  the  sky. 
Was  it  the  Christ  who  greatly  stood 
To  plead  in  pain  for  the  world's  manhood? 
I  know  not;  only  I  seem  to  see 
That  Presence  ever  follow  me ; 
He  follows  me  through  day  and  night — 
/  write  what  He  bade  me  write! 


54 


IV 

ENCHANTMENT 


WHITE  WINDS 

White  winds  that  blow  across  my  dreams, 

Your  fringe  is  freighted  with  such  loveliness     .     . 

Could  I  but  carry  all  you  say 

Into  the  realm  of  day, 

Bearing  the  joy  that  is,  into  the  grief  that  seems ! 

Oh,  could  I  take  into  earth's  wilderness 

Only  a  murmur,  only  a  thin  sigh 

Of  your  elusive  joy  breathing  by     ... 

A  something  exquisite  and  mad,  beyond  the  spell 

Of  the  dull  orbit  where  dull  people  dwell. 

White  winds,  that  bring  your  bliss  to  me, 

Make  me  a  harp  to  tell  it  ceaselessly, 

And  I  shall  ask  in  all  the  world  no  greater  choice 

Than  to  be  found  a  fitting  channel  for  your  voice. 


57 


THE  FIRST  BORN 

I  love  every  board  in  the  floor,  every  crack  in  the 

wall, 

Every  crease  in  the  coverlet  over  my  baby. 
All  that  surrounds  him  and  bounds  him  I  love, 
From  the  fire  on  the  low  hearth  burning, 
To  the  brooding  rafters  above. 
All  has  turned  holy  and  tender  and  yearning; 
Even  the  hardest  and  homeliest  things 
Have  a  sound  that  sings. 

Oh,  dear  little  dent  in  the  pillow  where  rests  his  head! 
Oh,  eloquent  patch  in  the  pale  blue  spread! 
And  the  look  of  his  tender  mouth,  where  the  breath 

comes  through — 

Ah,  God!   I'd  suffer  the  anguish  of  Hell  anew, 
Only  to  hold  him  and  see  him  and  kneel  at  his  bed. 
I  love  every  pane  in  the  skylight  over  my  baby; 
Humble  and  rough  though  the  broken  panels  be   ... 
For  stars  and  sun  and  even  angels,  maybe, 
Are  smiling  down  on  me. 


58 


YOUTH  TO  THE  CYNIC 

"If  you  could  know !    If  you  could  only  see !" 
Your  leveled,  merry  eyes  made  light  of  me. 
"Take  not  the  world  so  tensely.    Time  is  brief. 
Life  is  for  sport,  and  wit,  and  gay  relief." 

"But  oh,  such  wonder  in  the  dawning  day" — 

Helpless,  I  smiled  and  gestured;  strove  to  say 

Some  bungling  word  to  tell  the  joy  that  went 

Like  a  great  wind  across  the  firmament. 

And  I  was  dumb  before  your  clever  wit. 

"But  dawn  is  old.    Let's  have  some  spice  with  it! 

Let's  rhapsodize  on  something  wholly  new." 

Stars,  v/inds  and  tempests,  too, 

Were  old  and  past,  you  said; 

Nor  saw  a  soul  as  wakened  from  the  dead 

Gazing  upon  a  mad,  transfigured  earth 

Clad  in  the  raiment  of  celestial  birth. 

But  oh,  what  music  matched  the  word  you  spoke; 
What  spirals  of  enchanted  color  woke 
Within  the  illumined  air  above. 
And  a  wild  fragrance,  as  from  being  in  love, 
And  bliss  that  catches  at  the  throat,  as  when 
Some  tender  sight  moves  to  ecstatic  tears. 
Friend,  I  am  free  of  you  and  all  your  fears! 
Age  may  not  cavil  at  the  fires  of  Truth 
Springing  eternal  in  the  heart  of  youth. 


59 


IN  A  STUDIO 

My  soul  responds  to  this  room 
As  a  lily  loosed  by  the  sun, 
Each  lovely  object,  one  by  one 
Warming  it  into  bloom, 
Wooing  the  ardor  from  my  heart 
To  run  like  fire  along  the  walls 
Where  Turner's  artistry  enthralls. 
Or,  mating  with  its  counterpart 
In  rivalries  of  light  and  shade 
Melting  within  a  rich  brocade. 
Or,  poised  above  a  cabinet 
Where  jade  and  ebony  and  jet 
Or  amber  overlaid  with  gold 
Lure  me  with  colors  manifold 


I  love  the  resonance  of  brass, 
And  all  my  hungry  nerves  are  fed 
By  the  ripe  ecstasy  of  wood; 
And  frescoes  delicately  spread; 
And  by  the  sorcery  of  glass 
In  sparkling  solitude. 
Fluent  as  flame  and  keen  as  wine 
I  drift  and  hover,  breathe  and  shine. 
My  eager,  answering  tendrils  twine 
And  curl  within  each  curling  cup 
That  drinks  my  essence  up. 


60 


O  Psyche,  where  your  beauty  springs — 

O  Mercury,  with  flying  feet, 

I,  too,  am  borne  on  pinions  fleet, 

I,  too,  have  wings! 


61 


MELODY 

When  Autumn  leaves  hurry  in  droves  across  a  windy 

day, 

I  hear  a  lilting  tune,  scattering  and  light  as  they. 
When,  in  the  ripe  sunshine,  I  serenely  stand 
Amid  the  fellowship  of  hushed  brown  hills, 
Chords  of  quiet  melody  ooze  out  of  the  land, 
And  out  of  the  air  a  startled  song  thrills. 
When  Autumn  fruitage  on  the  bending  tree 
Beckons  and  makes  obeisance  unto  me, 
And  the  blue  day  is  starred  with  globes  of  fire, 
While  hastening  clouds  behind 
Are  like  a  tossing  ocean  in  the  wind     .     .     . 
Then  the  sweet  voices  of  an  unseen  choir 
Sing  to  the  viol  of  the  stringed  air 
And  joy,  joy,  joy  is  everywhere ! 


62 


TULIP  BEDS  IN  HOLLAND 

I  used  to  wonder  where  the  rainbow  went 

After  its  hour  was  spent. 

I  used  to  think 

The  sunset  poured  its  colors,  gold  and  pink 

And  lavish  purple,  somewhere  on  the  ground; 

That  dawn's  vermillion  and  the  stupendous  blue 

Of  daylight's  coming,  too, 

Might  all  be  found 

Hoarded  upon  the  palette  of  the  artist  earth 

To  give  new  paintings  birth. 

Holland,  I  saw  your  tulip  gardens  giving  all 

Their  tides  of  color  to  the  Spring's  call, 

Spilling  their  splendor  in  one  mighty  overflow     . 

And  now  I  know ! 


63 


COMPLETION 

The  day  has  fallen  softly  as  a  peach, 

The  mellow  moments  blending  each  in  each, 

The  lucent  hours  rounding  within  my  reach 

Yielding  my  highest  dream 

In  symmetry  supreme, 

Till  scarlet  sun  descending 

Brings  the  ripe  ending 

Holding  within  its  luscious  heart  the  seeds 

Of  all  love's  future  needs. 


64 


V 
CONTRASTS 


IN  EXCHANGE  FOR  A  SOUL 

Once  the  homeliest  frame  sufficed; 
Once,  the  barrenest,  cold  room 
Housed  my  hope  and  held  my  Christ; 
Meagre  food  or  sky  of  gloom 
Shed  no  shadow  o'er  His  brow 
Whose  kingly  face  is  hidden  now. 

Once,  the  hard,  uncurtained  pane 
Quivered  with  enchanted  light — 
Lovely  frost  and  gorgeous  rain. 
Now,  no  summons  brings  to  sight 
Beauty  in  that  sullen  place 
Once  enwreathed  with  lyric  lace. 

Once,  the  slightest  happening 
Was  a  window  of  delight 
Open  to  the  sounds  of  Spring    .     .     . 
Sudden  raptures  keen  as  fright. 
Now  the  singer  sings  in  vain — 
Rapture  cometh  not,  nor  pain. 

Saffron  silk  and  purple  grace 
Ebon  wood  and  cloth  of  gold 
Frame  the  flaccid,  empty  face 
Of  Life,  grown  arrogant  and  old. 
O  Fate,  who  measured  out  my  cup — 
Give  one  potion  more  to  me — 
Grief,  and  I  will  drink  it  up; 
Wholesome  want,  and  set  me  free! 

67 


ANTS 

We  are  like  ants,  we  mortals,  when  we  crawl 
Over  and  over  the  same  round  earth, 
Spanning  as  they  a  ruddy  apple's  girth 
As  if  its  goal  were  all. 
Bent  on  the  body's  need,  more  and  more, 
As  ants  we  build  and  travel  and  explore, 
With  eyes  too  fixed  upon  the  good  ground 
To  see  immensity  that  girds  us  round. 

Scarcely  we  look 

Upon  the  sky's  immortal  book, 

But,  closely  bent 

O'er  map  and  chart  and  rule,  ever  intent 

As  ants  upon  the  easiest  range 

We  miss  the  strange 

Far  lettering  of  the  sky's  page. 

Even  in  art  and  knowledge,  seldom  seeing 

Beneath  the  rind  of  being. 

Our  learning  handed  down 

From  age  to  heavy  age    N 

In  parchments  of  renown. 

"What  book?     What  period?     What  place  upon  the 

map?" 

Settles  the  status  of  our  thought.    Mayhap 
Doubt  stirs  within  us,  too,  but  seldom  do  we  cry 
Out  of  the  depths  of  feeling,  "Why?" 

68 


We  are  like  ants,  that  travel  o'er  a  ruddy  ball, 

Fondly  beholding  it  as  all. 

While  but  to  lift  the  face 

And  bare  the  head 

Beneath  a  million  suns  in  beauty  spread, 

Would  usher  man  into  the  Eternal  Courts  of  Grace ! 


69 


WHAT  IS  MY  WISDOM? 
(The  Old  Idea  To  The  New) 

What  is  my  wisdom,  what  my  years  of  truth, 

Beside  your  boiling  youth? 

A  flood  of  raging  waters  flowing 

Beyond  my  knowing. 

A  stream  that  batters  down  the  olden  gate, 

Nor  heeds  the  solid  shore  where  stands  my  thought, 

Hardened  and  fixed  as  Fate. 

You  sweep  aside  the  precepts  I  have  taught 

As  tides  toss  sea  weed  on  a  careless  wave. 

I  speak  to  you  of  caution  and  command, 

You,  seeing  visions  beautiful  and  brave 

Scatter  my  fears  like  pebbles  on  the  sand. 

You  find  a  new  God  on  the  Future's  rim 

And  bid  me  follow  Him! 


70 


TO  A  BROKEN  STALK 

Gentle  and  unoffending  one, 

Torn  from  thy  converse  with  the  sun 

And  from  thy  parent  tree  ruthlessly  broken- 

What  memories  unspoken 

Of  groves  where  angels  walk 

Dreamed  in  thy  stalk? 

What  hope  and  tender  longing 

From  unborn  leaflets  thronging 

Deep  in  thy  sap  and  strength 

Are  blighted  by  this  crime? 

What  wealth  of  beauty  sought  to  climb 

Through  thee  at  length 

To  daylight  and  the  vision  of  men, 

Bringing  the  primal  radiance  back  again? 


71 


WHY? 

I,  who  love  children,  must  go  childless.    I, 

Endowed  with  all  a  woman's  heavenly  powers 

May  spend  my  love  in  brooding  on  the  sky, 

May  lavish  tenderness  upon  my  flowers, 

Or  in  some  purpose  for  the  world's  betterment 

Struggle  to  find  content. 

And  yet    .     .    . 

My  thwarted  mother  heart  may  not  forget. 

Daily  I  see  them — wistful  babes  of  earth; 

Mothers  who  sigh  and  fret 

Or  watch  with  dull,  indifferent  look 

The  miracle  in  deep,  enchanted  eyes    .    .    . 

A  child's  rich  heart  unfolding  like  a  book. 

Impatient  scoldings,  ignorant  replies 

Answer  the  spirit's  wakening.    While  I, 

Yearning  to  pour  the  passion  of  my  being 

Must  turn  away,  unseeing, 

And  wonder,  "Why?" 


72 


LOST  RAPTURE 

Was  life  enchanted?  Mournest  thou  the  day 

When  the  compelling  rapture  thinned  away? 

Thou  art  thyself  more  wonderful  than  any  love  that 

came, 

An  everlasting  rapture  and  an  immortal  flame. 
The  sweetest  pang  of  thy  forgotten  Junes 
Only  a  spark  in  the  transcendent  fire 
Whence  leaped  thine  own  desire.  ( 

Love's  gates  are  swung  to  such  eternal  tunes 
As  mortals  may  not  bear; 
Should  the  unhindered  spirit  speak, 
Evil  would  vanish  in  destroying  air  ... 
We  should  be  patient  with  the  weak 
And  merciful  with  wrong, 
Turning  the  voice  of  mourning  into  song. 


VI 

FANCIES 


BALLAD  OF  THE  WIND  AND  THE  PINE 

Said  the  wind  to  the  pine, 

"Be  mine,  O  be  mine! 

We  shall  travel  afar 

Where  your  dream  castles  are. 

For  who  would  be  prisoned  in  forests  of  shade 

And  never  behold  how  the  wide  world  is  made? 

Conventions  are  tame!" 

Cried  the  wind,  all  aflame — 

Her  perfume  had  maddened  him  long  ere  he  came. 

"From  the  day  of  your  birth 

Are  you  tied  to  the  earth. 

You  are  young,  she  is  old. 

She  is  moral,  but  cold. 

Your  sisters  are  stupid,  and  as  they  are  born 

So  perish  they  all,  in  perfection  forlorn. 

All  fetters  are  foolish,  all  ties  are  a  curse — 

No  bonds  should  there  be  in  a  free  universe ! 

Put  your  arms  round  my  neck,  swing  to  saddle  with 

me    .    .    . 
And  what  should  we  reck  of  your  neighbors?"  quoth  he. 


The  pine  tree,  ashamed  of  the  thrill  in  her  heart, 
Shook  her  head,  stood  apart; 

Bade  the  wind  go  his  way  till  another  bright  day    . 
The  pine  tree,  alone,  lived  his  words  o'er  and  o'er; 
The  robe  he  had  praised  with  new  dignity  wore. 
With  arms  round  his  shoulder, 

77 


How  close  he  would  hold  her!     .     .    . 
Shame  caught  her  again ;  the  beech  and  the  fir, 
The  spruce  and  the  poplar  so  decorous  were. 
They  would  scorn  could  they  guess 
How  she  loved  his  caress. 

Well,  tempests  and  trees  are  like  women  and  men — 
She  longed,  yet  she  dreaded  to  hear  him  again. 
Then  came  the  old  yearning  and  leaped  the  old  thrill 
When  she  heard  the  far  sound  of  his  steeds  on  the  hill. 
With  streaming  of  banners  and  trampling  of  feet, 

The  wind,  he  came  crying, 

Would  brook  no  denying 

For  conquest  complete. 

Though  she  suffered  and  prayed, 

Faint  with  bliss,  she  obeyed    .    .    . 

With  wrench  and  with  strain 

Leaped  boldly  to  follow; 

And  oh,  the  great  hollow 

She  tore  in  the  soil  where  her  roots  long  had  lain — 

So  doth  liberty  pain! 

Affrighted,  aghast, 

She  stood  waiting,  alone    .    .    . 

Truth  dawning  at  last — 

For  her  lover  had  flown ! 

On  the  pitiless  air 

Came  her  cry  of  despair 

78 


As  she  fell  to  the  earth 
That  had  given  her  birth     . 
And  at  night  she  did  waken 
In  tears,  and  forsaken, 
To  see  his  arms  twine 
Round  a  fair  sister  pine     . 
"Be  mine— O  be  mine !" 


79 


CONVERSAZIONE 

Have  you  ever  spoken  to  a  rose 

And  heard  her  faint  reply? 

A  thing  so  delicate 

No  word  may  articulate? 

Have  you  hailed  an  April  cloud,  skimming  nigh, 

Have  you  had  the  wind  walk  with  you, 

The  keen  rain  talk  with  you? 

Rain  is  witty  as  can  be — 

A  scintillating  speaker  she! 

Brooks  have  a  way  of  talking,  too,  that's  quite  diverting 

When  they're  not  flirting 

With  every  dapper  tree  that  dances  by; 

But  lakes,  I  am  told, 

Have  treasures  manifold 

And  are  very  entertaining  when  they  try. 

Indeed,  a  lake  was  telling  me  the  other  morning 

About  a  modern  parasite  across  the  way — 

A  river  bank  who  dreams  of  nothing  but  adorning, 

Looking  at  her  lashes  in  the  stream  all  day! 

And  oh,  of  all  the  clever  things  the  laughing  river  said ! 
She  heard  a  woman  talking  of  a  rainbow  overhead : 
"You  know,  such  flaunting  colors  are  offensive  to  my 

sight; 

I  really  think  the  taste  of  the  Creator  is  not  right." 
Hollyhocks  and  sunflowers,  pinks  and  daisies  too, 

80 


Primrose  and  marigold,  she  thought  them  quite  taboo. 
"No  cultured  person  dresses  in  this  fashion,  as  you 
know; 

And  all  this  gaudy  coloring  creates  a  vulgar  show." 

« 

She  further  said  she  thought  the  pussy  willow,  with  her 

furs  on 

Quite  a  proper  person. 

"Without  them,"  laughed  the  river,  "on  a  raw  day 
She  hasn't  much  to  say !" 

The  critic  further  amplified:   "Some  day  will  Nature 

learn 

To  color  with  a  quiet  hand  the  poppy  and  the  fern; 
To  soften  down  the  sunrise  and  modify  the  fruit 
And  ostracize  October  when  her  gowns  don't  suit!" 


81 


SUPPOSE 

Suppose  the  garden  said, 
When  Spring  came  out  to  spread 
Her  tunic  of  rose  and  blue, 
Her  fringes  of  gold  and  red — 
"A  calico  gown  will  do. 
Such  splendor  is  not  God's  will, 
And  vanity's  price  is  dust; 
'Tis  wanton  to  primp  and  frill 
And  pander  to  human  lust." 
Suppose  the  apple  tree  should  say 
When  all  her  blooms  were  white, 
"The  Lord  is  grieved  at  such  display 
Such  frumpery  is  not  right!" 
Suppose  the  hillside  yonder, 
Whose  brow  is  stern  and  bare 
Should  hesitate  and  ponder 
When  clouds  would  make  her  fair? 


82 


VII 
TRIBUTES 


THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  AGE 

A  soul  that  sat  in  light,  and  looking  out 

Across  concealing  battlements  of  cloud, 

Saw  the  deluded  world  meshed  in  its  own  doubt, 

Mummied  in  superstition  as  a  shroud. 

Saw  how  the  half -born  human  race  revered 

The  ills  it  feared, 

Bowing  the  knee  to  gods  debased  and  mean, 

Fierce  graven  images,  unspeakable,  unclean. 

Beheld  the  hideous  pageant  as  it  came 

Down  dim  distorted  centuries  of  lust — 

Dark  worshippers  of  idols  and  of  shame 

Whose  deeds  are  dust. 

Seeing  how  Molloch  toppled  and  Baal  fell 

And  still  the  spell 

Wrought  other  gods,  invented  fears  anew, 

While  frenzied  dervish  and  enchanted  priest 

Gloated  above  the  sacrificial  feast 

And  a  fresh  glamour  grew 

From  endless  orgies  in  an  unending  chain 

Of  agony  and  pain. 

A  soul  that  sat  in  light,  seeing  without  disguise 
The  stern,  sad  chronicle  of  ages  run — 
A  film  of  horror  melting  in  the  sun, 
Unseen,  unguessed  by  the  Eternal  eyes, 
Gazing  forever  on  the  plan  supreme — 

85 


Man  in  the  image  of  his  Maker's  dream, 
Unhurt,  unsullied,  burning  clear  and  white 
Like  a  great  star  at  night. 
Man's  mighty  heritage  of  sin  and  grief 
The  tortured  shadow  of  his  own  belief 
Spread  like  a  dark  obscuring  veil  in  space; 
The  world  self-hidden  from  the  Creator's  face. 

A  soul  that  sat  in  light;  and  looking,  saw 

The  end  and  the  beginning  of  the  Law 

Lay  only  in  beholding  God  aright. 

And  stretching  forth  her  hands 

To  the  sick  peoples  of  all  lands, 

She  cries  to-day,  "Come  forth  into  the  light!" 


TO  EDITH  M.  THOMAS 

Minds  that  dwell 

In  the  white  splendor  of  the  upper  spheres,  do  well. 

For  all  their  seeming  loneliness,  a  spell 

Of  grandeur  growing  daily  into  song 

Makes  melody  of  wrong. 

Lyra  is  patient,  through  eternal  space; 

Capella  wings  her  swift,  invisible  flight 

Through  endless  barriers  of  day  and  night; 

And  Cassiopeia  triumphs  in  her  place. 

Poet,  the  winds  of  Truth  blow  near  and  far; 

Clamor  and  dust  descend  unto  their  own; 

When  the  last  wind  has  blown 

A  wakened  world  shall  see  you  as  you  are 

The  steadfast  sister  of  the  morning  star 

On  your  immortal  throne. 


87 


THE  HUMANITARIAN 

Seeing  how  the  world  suffered  and  bled, 

He  said: 

"My  life  shall  bring 

Help  to  that  suffering. 

Seeing  how  the  earth  had  need 

Of  sheer  joy  and  beauty 

Above  all  bitter  creed 

Of  cruel  penitence  and  duty, 

And  how  mankind 

Thirsted  and  cried  for  joy  it  could  not  find, 

His  heart  made  quick  reply, 

"Men  shall  know  happiness  before  I  die." 

He  who  brings  beauty  to  the  lives  of  men 
Needeth  no  tribute  of  recording  pen. 
His  deeds  are  graven  in  a  place  apart, 
On  the  enduring  tablet  of  the  human  heart. 


TO  A  SLEEPING  BABE 

(A  Tribute  And  A  Prophecy  For  Brucie) 

Brucie,  curled  in  your  white  nest, 

You  are  a  sea  shell,  pink  and  cream, 

Borne  on  the  foaming  crest 

Of  night's  dream. 

Tossed  in  the  great  immensity  of  sleep, 

Hearing,  who  knows  what  message  from  the  deep, 

How  calm  you  keep ! 

How  hushed  you  are,  how  wise, 

In  strange,  sweet  knowledge  out  of  Paradise. 

Brucie,  when  you  are  grown, 

You  shall  make  known 

Secrets  profound  your  tiny  ears  have  heard 

Even  as  shells  give  back  the  sounds  they  hear 

Unto  the  human  ear. 

So  you,  a  man,  shall  speak  your  lofty  word, 

And  the  great  world,  hearing  your  voice, 

Shall  hearken  and  rejoice. 


89 


THE  STAR 

Dearest,  as  time  surrounds  thy  deed 
With  distance  and  tranquility, 
Where  hours  of  silence  intercede 
And  tell  thy  cause  to  me, 
The  pain  thou  gavest,  for  my  good, 
Carried  aloft  to  that  clear  sky 
Where  deeds  of  men  transfigured  are, 
Burns  in  a  splendid  solitude, 
Perfect,  serene,  and  high. 
The  searing  flame  becomes  a  star 
Whereon  I  look,  with  lifted  gaze, 
Lost  in  the  dark  earth's  tangled  maze 
And  yield  my  Aves  at  thy  shrine  .    . 
"This  one  thing  is  divine!" 


90 


TRIBUTE  TO  GREATNESS 

That  mortal  will  could  flower  in  such  a  deed, 

That  human  love  could  span 

Such  sacrifice,  beyond  all  earthly  meed, 

Points  a  new  star  for  man; 

Pens  a  new  word  upon  the  written  scroll 

That  spells  the  greatness  of  the  human  soul. 

Dear,  you  are  like  a  trumpet  for  the  heart, 

Silver  amid  the  time's  dark  dissonance. 

In  a  high  place  apart 

You  sound  the  splendor  of  the  day's  advance, 

You  tell  of  ministries  immense  and  free 

In  the  new  world  to  be     .     .     . 

My  wish  for  blinded  men  and  blinded  women,  too, 

That  they  might  follow  you. 


91 


A  DAUGHTER'S  TRIBUTE 

Before  my  girlhood  turned  its  eager  page, 

I  knew  her  more  than  mother,  more  than  sage. 

Back  of  the  wide  brow  and  earnest  eyes — 

The  strange  concealing  curtain  of  her  face — 

I  saw  one  day  the  miracle  take  place ; 

Piercing  the  outer  garment  of  disguise 

A  monarch  of  the  spirit  shining  through 

The  form  I  knew. 

"God  at  the  core  of  you;  God  at  the  core  of  every 

woman  and  man 
And  child  upon  this  planet."    So  her  teaching  ran. 


And  I,  who  listened,  went  at  dusk  to  see 

What  inward  knowledge  might  arise  in  me. 

And  standing  close  beside  the  garden  tree — 

"God  is  as  near  as  this — as  close!"  I  said, 

And  felt  a  sudden  sacred  rapture  spread 

Singing  through  all  my  veins,  and  knew  His  heart 

Beating  within  my  own,  its  inmost  part. 

His  pulse,  sounding  within  my  own,  as  if  it  said, 

"I  will  be  within  thee  on  the  dim  road  ahead !" 


In  golden  roses  and  a  golden  dress 
I  knew,  one  day,  my  mother's  proud  caress — 
Her  hands  had  fashioned  every  seam  of  it, 
Cut  from  a  silken  gown  of  old  to  fit 

92 


My  girlish  need  when  graduation  came  .    .    . 
To-day  the  smell  of  roses,  yellow-sweet, 
Makes  my  heart  beat; 
And  golden  silk  beckons  to  me  like  flame  .    .    . 

Straight  and  severe  and  hard  the  path  was  set; 
So  cold  it  seemed  to  my  warm  heart  1    And  yet 
I  know  to-day  the  road  that  had  no  rest, 
Upward  and  upward,  on  and  on,  was  best. 
Never  her  spirit  faltered,  never  her  courage  went 
Though  mortal  strength  was  spent — 
"Look  to  the  spirit,  and  be  strong!"  she  cried, 
As  on  and  up  we  traveled,  side  by  side. 

Sometimes  in  dreams  I  see  her  tall,  severe; 

A  hooded  monk,  a  soldier  or  a  seer — 

Scarcely  I  know,  she  seems  so  hushed  and  great, 

Sacred  and  solemn  and  immaculate, 

Marching  in  straight  procession  with  the  strong 

Whose  stalwart  shoulders  rise  above  the  throng. 

The  world  shall  see  her  yet  as  I  have  seen, 

Priestess  and  mother,  prophetess  and  queen. 


93 


VIII 
MAN  TO-MORROW 


ON  EARTH  AS  IT  IS  IN  HEAVEN 

If  we  could  hear  the  sound  that  morning  brings, 

What  chords  convey  the  color  of  a  prayer, 

How  the  dull  word  is  girt  about  with  wings 

Foaming  in  rapturous  air; 

Could  we  but  see  what  ecstasy  attends 

The  calm  and  simple  intercourse  of  friends; 

Could  we  but  know 

How  all  the  sterile  pathway  where  we  go 

Is  passionate  with  flowers  and  with  flame 

Though  days  are  colorless  and  tasks  are  tame  .    . 

How  the  glad  country  whence  we  came 

Still  hoods  us  round  with  veil  on  shimmering  veil; 

Oh,  never  would  our  spirits  doubt  or  fail, 

Nor  would  we  cravenly  prepare  for  death; 

But,  with  awakened  breath 

And  with  uplifted  eyes  and  hearts  afire 

We  would  walk  buoyantly  and  swift, 

Knowing  full  well  there  waits  us  the  one  gift — 

Our  heart's  desire. 


97 


TO  AN  APRIL  BUD 

You  little,  eager,  peeping  thing — 
You  embryonic  point  of  light 
Pushing  from  out  your  winter  night, 
How  you  do  make  my  pulses  sing ! 
A  tiny  eye  amid  the  gloom, 
The  merest  speck  I  scarce  had  seen — 
So  doth  God's  rapture  rend  the  tomb 
In  this  wee  burst  of  April  green! 

And  lo,  'tis  here — and  lo !  'tis  there — 
Spurting  its  jets  of  sweet  desire 
In  upward  curling  threads  of  fire 
Like  tapers  kindling  all  the  air. 
Why,  scarce  it  seems  an  hour  ago 
These  branches  clashed  in  bitter  cold; 
What  Power  hath  set  their  veins  aglow? 
O  soul  of  mine,  be  bold,  be  bold! 
If  from  this  tree,  this  blackened  thing, 
Hard  as  the  floor  my  feet  have  prest 
This  flame  of  joy  conies  clamoring 
In  hues  as  red  as  robin's  breast 
Waking  to  life  this  little  twig — 
O  faith  of  mine,  be  big !  Be  big ! 


This  poem  is  inscribed  to  Mrs.  Waldo  Richards,  and  was 
published  in  her  anthology  entitled  "The  Melody  of  Earth," 
under  the  title,  "The  Awakening."  The  author  is  indebted  to 
Mrs.  Richards  and  to  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  for  permission 
to  reprint  in  this  volume. 

98 


THE  NEW  MARRIAGE 

This  bond  which  has  existed  since  the  beginning  of 

time, 

We  now  recognize  upon  the  planet  earth. 
Before  the  morning  stars  sang  together 
These  separate  entities  were  one  in  the  Eternal  Mind, 
The  Everlasting  Love. 
Love  sent  them  forth,  on  separate  errands, 
Questing,  ever  questing, 
That  when  they  came  together 
There  should  be  radiance  and  a  great  joy. 
We  of  the  earth  respect  the  mandate  of  God, 
Seeing  the  bond  existing  between  these  two  beings, 
Each  yearning  for  its  complement,  designed  from  the 

beginning. 

God  hath  pronounced  you  man  and  wife; 
Earth  bows  to  the  edict  of  the  Creative  Word. 


99 


FOUR  MORNING  STARS* 

Four  morning  stars  together  telling  the  world's 

release     .     .     . 

Jupiter,  leading  the  way,  crying  to  all  the  earth, 
"New  Birth!" 
(While  Regulus  between 
Heralds  a  dawn  unseen)     .    .    . 
Saturn  and  Mars 

In  friendly  concord  mid  the  stars 
Singing  "Peace !" 

And  Venus,  pouring  the  splendor  of  her  soul: 
"  Tis  love  will  make  men  whole !" 


*Note:  This  actual  phenomenon  occurred  in  October  and 
was  witnessed  by  the  author  at  half  past  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  of  October  29,  at  Orchard  Terrace,  Loyd,  Ulster  County. 
Jupicer,  leading,  with  the  first  magnitude  star  Regulus — between — 
followed  by  Saturn  and  Mars  close  together;  then  lowest  of  all, 
Venus,  like  a  lamp  in  the  sky. 

100 


THE  NEW  BAPTISM 

I  baptize  you  into  Eternal  Life. 

I  baptize  you  into  Eternal  Love. 

I  baptize  you  into  the  glory  of  the  new  day. 

All  the  past  is  washed  away. 

There  is  no  sin  in  all  the  kingdom  of  God. 

There  is  no  death  in  the  kingdom  of  God. 

I  baptize  you  in  the  name  of  the  Living  God, 

Dwelling  within  you  now  and  forevermore. 


101 


THE  NEW  BIRTH 

Sarah,  thou  aged  woman,  thou  art  the  forerunner  of  a 

new  day 

Descending  upon  the  world     .     .     . 
Sarah,  barren  because  of  earth, 
Fruitful  because  of  Heaven. 
Sarah,  thou  channel  of  transcendent  birth, 
Because  of  thee  shall  men  find  Truth, 
Seeing  beyond  the  body's  perishing  array 
Beauty,  undying,  endlessly  unfurled, 
Nourished  at  the  Eternal  Fount  of  youth. 
O  Sarah !    Well  for  thee  thy  shrivelled  breasts  were 

naught ; 

Well  for  the  world  thy  womb  no  answer  woke 
Till  the  great  Word  of  Life 
Its  resurrection  brought, 
And  Love  Eternal  summoned  thee  to  wife! 


102 


COMMANDER 

You  ask  if  I  saw  a  great  general  riding  to-day, 
Worshipped  and  loved  of  the  people  swaying  like  trees 

in  the  wind  of  his  eloquent  way; 
Statue  superb  of  chiselled  endurance  mounted  over  the 

throng, 
Hewn  in  the  bronze  of  his  figure  the  soul  of  a  nation 

intrepid  and  strong. 
("Saw  you  the  banners?    Heard  you  the  cheers  as  he 

galloped  in  sight? 
Saw    you    the    human    ocean    foam    into    fluttering 

white?") 

Yes,  Commander !  My  soul  thrills  to  you. 
Yes,  Commander!  Victorious  and  true. 
For  high  above  the  avenue,  where  blooms  the  tallest 

tower, 

I  saw  the  folded  Future  swing  open  like  a  flower. 
Marching  out  of  Paradise  where  clouds  of  beauty  are 
I  saw  the  new  commander,  I  saw  the  new  commander 
Go  forth  to  conquer  War. 
Tramp — tramp — tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 
Tramp — tramp — tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 
But  high  above  the  frenzied  street  where  weathered 

troops  were  striding, 
I  heard  the  new  commander,  riding,  riding! 


103 


You   tell  me   you   saw   the   commander   triumphantly 

pass, 
Acres  on  acres  of  human  beings  bending  like  prairie 

grass, 
Tier  upon  crowded  tier  of  tense  humanity  sweeping  to 

sudden  flame, 
Bursting  in  passionate  purple  and  scarlet  and  riotous 

gold  as  he  came. 
("Heard  you  the  hammering  heart  of  a  nation  united  as 

one? 

Saw  you  Democracy's  banner  supreme  in  the  sun?") 
Yes,  commander!    Your  stalwart  soul  is  white. 
Yes,  commander !    You  fought  the  noble  fight. 
But  high  above  the  crime  of  earth,  its  ignorance  and 

shame, 
I  saw  the  new  commander,  who  wears  the  future's 

fame, 

Beyond  the  shouting  multitude  and  silver  as  a  star 
I  heard  his  bugle  calling,  calling  sweet  and  far. 
Tramp — tramp— tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 
Tramp — tramp — tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 
The  minds  of  men  were  marching  the  minds  of  men 

were  marching, 

The  minds  of  men  were  marching, 
Forth  to  conquer  War! 

Come,  Commander!     Swing  wide  the  Future's  door. 
Come,  Commander!    The  wasted  lands  implore. 
Where  Innocence  is  dying, 
Where  shattered  homes  are  lying, 

104 


Where  torn  hearts  are  crying 

For  sons  that  are  no  more. 

Tramp — tramp — tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

Tr?.np — tramp — tramp,  tramp,  tramp. 

F  yond  the  sodden  battlefields  where  fallen  victims  lie, 

1  hail  the  new  Commander,  I  hail  the  new  Commander, 

I  hail  the  new  Commander 

Marching  down  the  sky! 


105 


"GOOD  TIDINGS  OF  GREAT  JOY" 

The  voice  of  a  bell  blossoming  out  of  the  world's  woe, 

Melting  over  cold  mounds  of  cruel  snow; 

Voices  of  many  strange  bells  pealing, 

"Healing,  healing!" 

The  many-petaled  voices  of  new  bells  hurled, 

"Healing  and  joy  shall  bless  the  world, 

Healing  and  joy  shall  bless  the  world!" 

Hush— hark! 

Sounding  in  the  dark, 

Magically  pealing, 

"Healing!    Healing!" 

Voices  of  dead  heroes  who  did  not  die  at  all  ... 

Listen  as  they  call. 

Whisper  of  your  dead  boy 

Sounding  in  your  ear — 

"Miracles  are  here — 

Miracles  and  joy! 

"Healing  for  the  maimed,  healing  for  the  blind, 

Healing  for  mankind." 

Voices  of  a  million  bells  mightily  unfurled, 

"Healing  for  the  world!" 


106 


ASSURANCE 

God's  curtains  lift  on  such  stupendous  height, 
His  stage  is  set  within  such  mighty  leisure, 
Man's  moments  may  not  measure 
The  grandeur  of  the  sight. 
God's  hammers  beat  such  glory  from  the  dark, 
And  from  the  dawn  such  ecstasy  of  adulation, 
Could  mortals  only  hark 
'Twould  be  the  world's  salvation. 

This  earth  a  shifting  alchemy  in  space, 

A  lump  of  lightning  held  in  the  fingers  of  God, 

Which,  to  our  human  touch  becometh  sod — 

A  thing  to  weigh  and  measure  and  embrace 

In  that  immense,  mad  fancy  of  the  human  race 

Called  the  last  enemy.    O,  Death,  how  we  shall  laugh 

some  day 
When  the  benumbing  fantasy  is  swept  away ! 


107 


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